I'm not Racist.....The Saga Continues

I'd like to think that I am not writing these blogs to myself, and that I actually have a miniscule reader following out there. With that being said, readers you may remember a post I wrote way back in November of 2007 called I'm Not Racist which expanded on my theory that the phrase I'm Not Racist, when uttered by ANY person, is usually followed by something completely and utterly racist indeed. If you don't remember reading it, or want to refresh yourself of how funny I am, I urge you to read the original blog post HERE before reading on in this new one.

Ok, done? Good.

Well, it happened again today. Sure, it happens all the time but I was never really inspired to write down everytime someone acted like a racist asshat, because:
A) I would be blogging every 10 minutes
B) It would stop being funny after the first 5
C) I don't get paid for keeping track of asshats, racist or not

Anyhow, I get a phone call today from my next door neighbor, Blondie (not her real name) who is in an absolute panic. Backstory on Blondie: pushing 50, tries to look 20, daisy dukes, bottle blonde, more make-up than Tammy Faye (dead or alive), talks like a mouse, and is so dumb that she makes Sarah Palin look like Albert Einstein in a $15,000 outfit. Seriously, this woman is dumb with a capital DUMB.
So she calls me this morning and says, "Alessia are you home" (First indication of her intelligence since she's called my HOUSE and asks me if I'm home. duuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhh) So I tell her that I am indeed home and what can I do for her. What follows is pretty much the actual conversation we had:
Blondie: Alessia are you home?
Alessia: Yes I am, what's wrong.
B: Do you see what's going on outside?
A: What do you mean? Across the street?
B: Yes! I am freaking out! I am so scared! What are they doing?!
A: Well B, it looks like a few guys set up a table in their front lawn and are playing dominoes.
B: I know but who does that?
A: Um......ok, lots of people? It's gorgeous out today.
B: Look, I'm Not Racist but when I see a bunch of black guys outside like that I am scared that gangs are going to show up.
A: B, they're just hanging out. I don't even see any of them drinking or smoking anything and they're not even being loud.
B: But there were so many of them this morning! And all these different cars were there and now they're just sitting there.
A: Well my only concern is why the teenager isn't in school, but it's probably because it's spring break for them.
B: But what if they start shooting? I mean I have Sara (her Rottweiler) here that I've trained to attack them, but what about you and Dante? What if they try and break into your house and rape you?
A: B, are you serious?
B: I'm sorry. I'm Not Racist but it's always those people that start problems! White people don't do this sort of thing! I mean, who does things like this!
A: You mean, play dominoes?
B: Oh, and what about the one next door who just sits on his porch and watches all day! I thought he was disabled so I felt sorry for him, but he's NOT and I always see him hiding things in the grass. I bet it's crack!
A: Um.....actually B, he's a nice guy. His son plays with Dante.
B: Well, you just better be careful.
A: Well I appreciate the call, I'll keep an eye out.
B: Lock your doors!
A: Bye now.


Really. Really? No, Really? Did I just set foot in the Idiot Twilight Zone? Is she fucking kidding me with that bullshit? Freaking out because a bunch of dudes, who happen to be black, decided to set up a card table under a shady palm and play dominoes on what is probably the LAST cool day we have here in Florida before the summer sets in. And then to preface half her comments with the aforementioned I'm Not Racist junk! Seriously. Seriously!!!!! You would have thought The Rapture (Hi Krissy) was coming and that she had suddenly sinned and couldn't take it back. That was the tone of her voice. She was seriously panicked because of a dominoes game that was going to lead to shoot-outs and gang warfare akin to the movie Colors and a Tupak/Biggie rivalry thing.

So once again, my theory of I'm Not Racist has not been disproven. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

Let's Get Personal

***WARNING***SPOILER ALERT***
This post is going to be talking about girl parts and things that happen to them. This post will also be talking about guts, uteruses (i?), blood, bleeding, farting, belching, anal leakage, general crankiness, and maybe the new show on VH-1, For the Love of Ray J. If you think I am incredibly awesome, sexy, pretty, intelligent, or any other positive attribute you would like to attach to me, you may not want to read on as my goddess like, chaste and pure image of me might be shattered.


That being said, let's get on with it.

So I've had my period since January 11th. Yes. JANUARY 11th. That J to the A to the N to the UARY. Notice the date of this blog? Notice it does not say January 12th or January 17th or nothing remotely close to a January. It's March. March fucking 2nd and I'm still riding the cotton pony. I'm still hosting a visit from my Aunt Flo. I'm still on the rag. I'm still surfing the crimson tide. Isn't it fucking great being a girl? I went to the doctor for this and, aside from discovering that I suffer from a disease called Polycystic Ovarian Sydrome (which I will delve into later), I now have NO ESTROGEN in my body and more testosterone than Imelda Marcos has shoes. (Wow, look at me inserting 20 year old jokes into my blog, how extremely retro of me.). So, on top of shedding copious amounts of blood for the past 60 days, I am now a dude. Oh, and I'm not just shedding copious amounts of blood (here comes the icky part), I am also shedding copious amounts of MYSELF along with it. Everytime I go to the restroom I end up looking like something out of a B-level slasher film. Come to think of it, maybe I should call up the editors over at Fangoria and ask them to do a photo shoot of me changing a tampon. No special effects needed here folks! That's pure unadulterated grossness right there!

I'm sure that after reading that you're wondering, "Gee well, how's your sex life" to which I will nicely answer, "FUCK YOU". What sex life. I don't want to go near my "area", how the hell would I expect my husband to come within 10 feet of it? Plus, the medication I'm on makes me bloat (which as a Plus Sized girl already is just pretty much adding insult to injury.), and it also gives me the Louisiana Quick Step, the trots, diarrhea, Oops I crapped my pants. So again, why would anyone want to come near me?

So let's review. The front of me is an oozing bloody mess while the rear is a sewage plant that leaks. I AM SO FUCKING HOT! You know you want me right now.

But let's not forget the cause of all this mess. The source of the issues here with my hormones and orifices. I have PCOS. A really neat little disease that fucks with my entire system and prevents me from ovulating, getting pregnant, and functioning as a normal human being. Let's go directly to the source shall we?

"If you have PCOS, you are more likely to develop high blood pressure, high cholesterol or type 2 diabetes. This means you have a greater risk for strokes and heart attacks.

Problems with menstrual periods may also cause women who have PCOS to be infertile (unable to get pregnant). They may also have a higher risk for cancer of the uterus or breast."

YAY! Thank you very much Universe! Thanks for that. I was already at a high risk bracket for cancer, but now you just bumped me up a notch! You are so awesome.

But wait! There's more! My thyroid doesn't work right either and now I have to see an Endocrinologist to get EVEN MORE medicine into my system. Looks like sex and baby number 2 are just a fantasy at this point!

*************************************************************end of rant******

So who is watching For the Love of Ray J?